


Eidolon

by Shyfti



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Angst, Drama, Hurt, M/M, Obsession, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:02:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shyfti/pseuds/Shyfti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How does a soldier of the Decepticon army handle his progression into obsession with his commanding officer, while dealing with the hardships of being a member of the armada?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers, if I did, I wouldn’t be writing fan fictions!

 **Warnings:** This is not the fluff you are looking for.

**Eidolon**

Prologue

 

He stood there in the center of the control room; posture attentive and vision focused on the other much larger mech standing before him, only a keen sight being able to pick up the nervous twitch in his servo’s.  Many surrounded him in the area, mostly on the lower level, where their forms were obscured by the unusually dim lighting.  After all, he was on the center platform where the light was bright so that everyone could get a clear view.  Third-in-command Soundwave had ensured that the main consoles camera was broadcasting so that all of the crew aboard the Nemesis could feel as though they were a spectator right there in the control room. 

A large behemoth-sized mech took a few steps closer to a smaller soldier and away from his second and third in command behind him.  His presence loomed over the smaller mech with each pede step drawing nearer.  They were slow, heavy, and deliberate.  It didn’t matter how many lights were on the smaller frame, it still seemed like he was being cast underneath the tyrant’s shadow. 

“You have been charged with conspiracy to trade Decepticon secrets to the enemy,” The mech boomed, a rasp layered upon the deep voice.  “In exchange for personal amnesty,” If someone in the next bay over said they didn’t hear him- they’d be a fragging liar.  It was becoming increasingly difficult for the soldier to hold his composure, his frame too stiff and his servos nervous twitching was frankly becoming disgustingly apparent as he tried to keep his optical visor locked respectfully, fearfully, to his leader’s.  “How do you plea?”     

The soldier did not reply. 

Gaze un-wavering the larger mech continued, “Not even _Starscream_ would sink so low as to crawl to the enemy pleading words of treachery.”  A brief _tch_ emanated from beside Soundwave.  Starscream only boiled over mildly compared to his usual standard level of reactions.  Instead- settling for gritting his denta and balling his servos at either side in frustration, almost seeming appalled that such an insult could have ever been conjured up.  It was easy to tell by the way Starscream suddenly stood straighter and narrowed his optics that an outburst defending his reputation was imminent.  Luckily, logic crossed through his processor and thought it better to not to push the limits at this particular moment. Next to him, Soundwave remained unmoving- fixated on the event before him. 

Still, the soldier remained silent.  Though there was hardly hiding his anxiety any longer with his Lord staring down at him with such burning accusation.  It wouldn’t be a surprise if the poor slagger leaked himself.  The other seemingly identical soldiers gazing up from the lower floor began to sneak glances with one another, concern and confusion flashing between them. 

“Speak up, _Soldier_!” 

He could not handle the pressure anymore and broke the scrupulous stare with his leader for the less judgmental floor paneling, the rest of his frame taking after his servos and trembling.  The wings on his back made the most rattling, but never a word.  No squeak, choke, static, or resemblance of any verbal noise emanated from the soldier.  The Lord stood there for another moment with contemplation on his face- his expression towards his subordinate went from calculated anger to disgust.  “You still have your voice box disengaged, don’t you?”  A low guttural laughter filled the circular room and all attention snapped back to the center.  “Did you honestly believe that not responding, when given the honor of being spoken to directly by your Lord, was going to make this work out in your favor?”

_Ping._

The winged soldier was a wreck.  How embarrassing.  It was amazing that he hadn’t collapsed to his knees and began begging and spit-shining the tyrants’ pede.    “Reconnect it.”  The winged soldier hesitated from the order for only a moment before raising one of his trembling servos to open a panel at his throat.  All of the shaking made tinkering with the hardware more difficult but soon enough his vocalizer was back online.  He looked back up at his leader after re-covering the fragile components, almost immediately it was clear why the hardware was off-lined to begin with.  Now, everyone could hear how his voice was betraying him, his visible trembling was now meekly audible.  Better to face judgment in silence than shame himself by sobbing for forgiveness incomprehensibly.  What if the Lord was merciful to his pleas?  Then of course there would be his “comrades” to deal with... 

_Ping._

“Now then…”  The leader began calmly, raising his right arm.  Starscream’s annoyed scowl was replaced with a grimace.  He, and all of the bystanders, knew this was the moment everything was building up too- the accused stared directly into the barrel of the blaster.  This was it; the last few seconds before all of this was over- the unwanted attention, the embarrassment, the pain, before his brain circuitry was blown into smoldering nothingness.  Everyone stood there, waiting.  Still, nothing happened, the blaster remained idle.  What was this, an allotment for repentance?  Visors began to side glance one another again in confusion before looking back waiting for their expectations to play out.  Instead the leader lifted his massive servo and clasped it over the shaking soldiers’ helm, who was only too surprised that a servo was on his helm instead of a smoke coming from his neck.  The soldier could only look up into his leaders burning optics.  If only he didn’t have his facial mask on, then the Lord could see his expression of sincere penitence!  Just as he was about to plead his case the tyrant spoke again.  “A truly strong and certainly _loyal_ Decepticon soldier would be able to withstand interrogation on sheer will alone.  If you can prove yourself, I may show some compassion.”  The room grew tenser, all of the soldiers more attentive than ever, with the video screens plastered along the back wall showing the event in a closer and more level view.  Even Starscream remained quiet, curious at how the eradicon would respond.  Slowly, the Decepticon war-lord began to squeeze his servo tightly around the soldiers’ helm who tried to still his quivering; failing miserably.

_Ping._

Tighter. 

_Ping._

The slight sickening sound of metal beginning to buckle beneath the digits seemed as though it was echoing about the room. The soldier spoke up, “Please, Master…”  The ornaments that decorated the right side of his helm warped outward from the pressure applied by the strong thumb.  Glass from his optical visor started to crack from the grip.  He panicked.  “Please, Lord Megatron!”  The servo was only provoked to clench down harder, any part of the helm under assault began to bow with a whine of stressed metal. 

_Ping._

It was becoming too much, the winged soldiers’ fans had already kicked in trying to calm his spiking temperature, knees crumpled beneath him as his body attempted to escape the pain but the servo gripping his helm kept him suspended.  Glass clinked on the ground from his shattering visor as he grasped Megatrons wrist with both of his servos in a desperate attempt for something, anything.  A mistake, indeed.  “My Lord, I beg you to please hav-“  The sharp ends of the digits pierced the helm.  Energon leaked from the fresh breach in the protective layer.  He screamed. 

Megatron held his grip there, both his and Starscreams expressions were the same.  Disgust. 

“Mercy!”  He managed between his screeching.  Fans ran in overdrive as his own energon spilled down his frame.  Despite the strained yell reverberating off the walls and through every speaker playing the gruesome footage, the distinct sound of the eradicons head crunching made its way through, the cry leveling into a choked static.  His frame was raised so that his pede’s were dangling, energon dripping into small puddles on the floor.  The grip on his leaders’ wrists slackened in a weak attempt to hold on.  Red optics, dimly lit- peered past gaps between digits to their master, flickering in intensity behind fragmented pieces of the destroyed visor.  Such pleading optics, how pitiful.

Matching optics fixed their loathing stare with the fainting light of the begging eradicon. 

“You do not deserve mercy.”   

 

 

* * *

 

To be continued.

* * *

Reviews and thoughts are what keep the drive going!  Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 1

_  
_ **Eidolon**

  
_  
_Chapter 1

_Ping._

1 MESSAGE

SOURCE: A1-712

REVIEW / DISCARD

* * *

We do not dream. Rather, it may be more accurate to say that we cannot dream. Unless glitching, an eradicon sub-processor is incapable of fabricating images and thoughts, but that doesn't mean that it can't replay memories. And that memory has been replaying for the past week.

Today, like the past few days, my systems came online from recharge slower than normal. Most other vehicons began to stir as well form the synchronized internal alarm telling us our shifts begin, while a few are just returning from duty. They shuffled in, climbing ladders built into the wall up to personally designated recharge platforms. For space efficiency the barracks are stacked four levels high, with a hallway long enough to make me pity the ones who'd had the slim pickings down that far. However, as the vorns have passed and the war has waged many platforms at the end are now empty, a subtle reminder of how much our numbers have shrunk. Around the room eradicons recharged upright, with supports on either side that their bodies rest down upon under their arms. As soldiers you could say we are always standing at attention and ready for anything. The hall is shaded in dim lighting where the brightest of the light comes from the red glow of passerby visors and purple accents marking the pathway to outlines of the platforms. It's crossed my processor on more than one occasion to what the setup for aerialcons or miners might be like, though it is hard to image them being much different.

Silent optics were on me as my systems finished booting up and dropped from my second level platform. Ambling past others there were no words or greetings, as was usual, but after the incident with Aileron it was overwhelmingly apparent to feel that the stares could be for any number of reasons. He had been a Series One, like myself, and also the closest friend that I had throughout this war. Though, the friend that I knew died long before his actual execution. There are a copious amount of laws programmed into us at first spark, but only three that rule over all.

3\. A drone soldier is a Decepticon above anything else

2\. A drone soldier is a servant to the Decepticon cause

1\. Megatron is Lord and Master of the Decepticons, and thusly, myself

Yet somehow, that slagger was able to break all of them in one go.

* * *

Days like these could make one think that being stuck on this mud ball of a planet wasn't so bad. The day was meant to be brutally hot, sure to make tires burn on asphalt tormented by the suns rays, except billowing clouds had been crossing the sky all day- making the air warm under its shadows.

The whole scouting business was the worse. Sure, the drives were nice, depending on where you were. This day would make the list of better ones, though. Those warm sun rays were beginning to recede on the horizon, causing the shape of the red muscle cars shadow to grow alongside him as he drove along a seemingly endless two-lane road. The landscape was expansive amounts of forestry, pocketed with valleys that could sometimes seem equally as large.

Aside from not finding any energon, this day was pretty great- and it was sure to get a whole lot better. Cliffjumper had picked up a Decepticon signal tailing him for a little over an hour now. Just one. Just enough to get the itch out of an otherwise lazy day. The problem was that tailing was all that this  _one_  Decepticreep was doing. Many scenarios had played through his processor of the reasoning as to why- mainly that it was a trap. But it was just one, and despite the relaxing drive all day there was just something about beating a 'Con to scrap metal that just took an edge off. He didn't contact anyone else on his team as he slowed his speed and turned on to a dirt road, eventually coming to a break in the forestry. If not Prime, Arcee would definably demand that he has backup. 'Con's were like rats. There is never  _just_ one. But this time there was  _just_ one, and he could obviously take on more- this was simply too easy of an opportunity to pass up. He slowly grinded over small shrubs, leaving a tire trail before coming to a stop at the edge, transformed, and waited.

Only minutes passed before Cliffjumper spotted the deep colored jet high above the canopy line, way too high to shoot at and actually hit. Regardless, Cliff changed his servos into his blasters and had them pointed right at the 'Con. Who- wasn't moving.

In all honesty what was his deal? Cliff's proximity sensors still had not picked up any other 'Con activity except for this one who obviously had some sort of malfunction. After briefly sitting in the sky, the jet began to descend. Cliff stood there anxiously waiting for the firefight to start except that the jet, with its clear aerial advantage- wasn't attacking, either. This 'Con really did have some sort of major malfunction and Cliff was going to take every advantage that gave him. As soon as the jet came close enough Cliff open fired furiously with a triumphant laugh, trying to knock that damned slagger out of the sky. The jet just nearly avoided each blast, tilting from one side to the other.

The lower the 'Con descended, the harder it became to avoid the blasts. Finally the jet transformed from the air into his bipedal form, creating a small tremor as he dropped into the thick of the forest.

With a gruff of frustration Cliff waited  _again_ , blasters still at the ready. This whole time he was being followed by a lone Decepticon grunt? He wasn't sure what else he was expecting, but any 'Con smashing was a good 'Con smashing.

Large bases were walking towards him, creating echoing snaps, cracks, and crunches as the 'Con crushed the woodland debris with each step. This idiotic mech didn't know a thing about stealth. Unless- this was indeed a decoy 'Con, distracting him while others sneak in from behind and try to take him out. Where he would round-house kick the first one before he knew what hit him followed up by a swift uppercut punch in the jaw and a blast in the gut and-

His sensors read that this was indeed, the only other mech in the area.

Cliff was just beginning to see the form of the 'Con coming towards him, just a little closer, a few steps pass more trunks for a clear shot.

One-

More-

Step-

And-

Now!

"Hold your fire! I surrender!"

Of all the possible scenarios- that was not one that crossed his processor.

"What?" Cliffjumper was asking himself that more than for the 'Con to repeat himself.

"I surrender!"

The purple Decepticon took his final steps into the open. His shoulders were down, but the wings on his back were still pointed high- unable to hide the anxiety of the situation, and had his hands risen to show the palm of his servos to mean no threat. Cliffjumper sat there, blasters still raised, more dumbfounded than anything to remember to fire. He didn't realize any of them could actually  _talk,_ let alone be talking to him.

"Ha! Yeah, right! I know your game. This is all one big elaborate setup." Cliffjumper motioned his blasters around the area the 'Con stood defenseless in. "So what is it? Why have you been following me without any of your buddies?"

"No trap, I promise you." The 'Con did not move from his spot for fear of being shot. "It's just me. No one knows that I left to come to speak with you."

"Why should I trust the word of Decepti-crap like you?" Cliff spat.

"Because I've chosen to secede from the Decepticons."

Well there was something new. Cliffjumper tilted his helm quizzically and scrutinized his stare, never faltering from his defensive stance- just in case. "Like that should mean anything to me!"

Wings along the back of the  _ex -_ Decepticon drooped down from their previously high and alert position, only making the 'Con look even more feeble. When he spoke, his baritone voice was cool and business-like, almost to the point of sounding rehearsed. "I have come to represent myself and others who wish to create a truce with you, and the other Autobots," Cliffjumper continued to stare at the opposing mech, this couldn't be real. "Perhaps even- an alignment."

Cliffjumper couldn't help but laugh at that last statement, letting his guard drop. An alignment? Seriously? The Decepticons must be running on empty in the creativity department if they thought any Autobot was going to be duped by something like this.

The purple mech let his servos fall at his sides with a brooding sigh, taking in Cliffjumpers ridicule. It was too be expected, though not ideal in the least. He spoke over Cliff's laughter, "In exchange for a union, myself and the others would be more than willing to offer combat support, and any and all concealed information regarding the Decepticons." That got Cliff to quiet down, thinking that maybe this mech is telling some small amount of truth.  _Maybe_. "One source of valuable information that may be of interest," The mech raised one of his servos to the side of his chest and lifted a panel, revealing a compartment for storage. Cliffjumper immediately raised his blasters once again, daring this 'Con to try pulling a trick. He stalled in his reach at Cliffjumpers sudden aggressiveness, before revealing a small glowing blue cube. "Is where the Decepticons are getting  _this_ , and where they know to get more." He closed his compartment and tossed the cube, letting it fall and roll in between where he and Cliffjumper stood.

Cliffjumper watched the cube incredulously. It was small, probably this grunts own ration. He transformed his blasters back into his servos as he returned his gaze back to the solo mech, his stance relaxing. This seemed all too fishy, and he really should have shot this 'Con long ago, but the possibility of Decepticon intel just barely outweighed the risks. Barely. "OK- I'm listening."

* * *

Walking through the main corridors of the ship produced the same stares that he'd received in the recharging barracks, and that he'd been getting for the last few days, and predicted he'd probably be looking forward to for a long time to come.

It sure made the walk seem agonizingly long. Honestly, he didn't understand why they thought he had done wrong. He was doing his  _job._ He would have expected any other soldier to have done the slagging same. Hypocrites.

The doors hissed open as he allowed himself in to start his new, rewarded, position in the command room. He already had rank amongst the other soldiers due to gained respect from how long he had survived this war. A Series One wouldn't be functioning today if it weren't for good reason. His rank included being a squad leader; if there was a large amount of vehicons for a certain project he was one of few automatically elected to be the one in charge to make sure everything went smoothly. The officers never took care of details like that- they made the order and expected it to get done. The hierarchy sorted itself out over the vorns. A command room position was what one could consider to be a cozy job. More likely to be asked to do specific tasks directly by the commanding officers, but equally as likely to be exempt in being called upon to face the Autobots. Some were perfectly content to stay as far away from the command center as possible in order to avoid the rage and scrutiny that the commanding officers could rain down on them. Camber, however, reveled in being in the presence of his leaders.

He just arrived at his new station on radar, fully intent on starting right away when a drolling voice, laced with eloquence piped up behind him. "Ah, there he is," All of the other soldiers in the room stopped what task they were on and turned to Commander Starscream to see just whom he was talking about. Curiously, so did Camber- though he had a sneaking suspicion. "Soldier V1-722," He remembered his designation. "Who so boldly proved his loyalty to the Decepticon cause." He was walking towards him, servos behind his back, helm held high and wings poised higher. Starscream stopped just before him, studying his faceless mask a moment before turning to the rest of the troops whom all had their attention on the Commander, or him, or both. "He is a prime example that all of you should take note of! I have always expected that level of loyalty out of all of you," His words bit, but they were spoken with confidence and regality. "And I trust that any doubts any of you may have harbored have been sufficiently dealt with." Starscream took one last glance down at him, and Camber sheepishly tilted his helm up to catch his Commanders gaze and lightly nodded, before Starscream coolly turned and began to saunter back to the main controls.

He allowed his gaze to follow Starscreams path back across the bridge to the center console, and eventually caught Soundwave silently staring back in his direction- and couldn't help but wonder if Soundwave recorded every moment of that interaction. He wondered just how much Soundwave actually took note of. Still standing in the same spot, Camber wasn't sure what to do with himself. The other eradicons were still staring at him disdainfully. He didn't need to see beyond the visors to know that. But still- he was lost within a haze. Never in all his years of service had he received deliberate acknowledgement from any superior, until now…

Direct praise.

From Commander Starscream.

"Enough slacking! Back to work, all of you!

* * *

The sun had already been well on its way receding beyond the horizon line, and the bright warm colors that had splashed across the sky were fading into duller, darker colors, the brightness of Cliffjumpers optics, the Decptiocons visor, and the energon cube between them become more apparent at the waning light. The 'Con grunt seemed a little more at ease, more trusting of Cliffjumper than Cliff was of him- though, Cliff supposed he had to be.

"Your name is Autobot Cliffjumper, correct?"

"Yeah, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that even the grunts of the Decepticon bunch know our names."

Neither of them moved from their spots, though Cliff had agreed to talk, the tension between them still sent the message of 'take one pede outta line and your helm is vapor'.

"I am identified as A1-712, a flight squad leader, and have been a part of Starscreams personal unit many times since before leaving Cybertron- if that gives you slightly more insight on my credibility on being more than just a simple  _grunt_."

Beyond his rehearsed lines, this 'Con sounded like he had some pride- or issues with pride. Either way, Cliffjumper was still surprised that these mechs even talked, much less have personality to boot. He had never heard a sound out of them in battle before. He almost wanted to bait him into being snippy- just to give him a valid excuse to blow a hole in his chest. Still- Cliff looked down at the cube between them- the chance of learning possible mining locations was too important. He needed to make this work for his teammates.

"Ok, ok, sore subject. So A1-7whatever, I'm a real impatient mech, so tell me what you want from us Autobots first in return for the location of more energon. Quickly."

"If you're going to get my identification wrong, then call me by my designated name, Aileron."

Cliffjumper scoffed that there was even a difference. Be an number, or have name, why confuse things anymore than necessary? "You coulda just said that one first!" He folded his arms impatiently, "Anyways, are you going to cut to the chase? Because as much as I dig lookin' at your face I'de like to start on these terms and conditions."

That got the 'Con to stiffen up a bit, and just made Cliffjumper smile.

Cliffjumper expected the mech to say something back, when the familiar sound of tearing and the creation of a vortex snapped him back to his defenses. Swirls of green light opened up and spun right behind the 'Con. Cliffjumper fragging knew it! He knew he shouldn't have thought he could trust this 'Con- no matter the reason! That bastard had probably been comming their entire conversation and was just waiting to ambush! He immediately transformed and raised his blasters with  _every_  intent to fire when A1-7 – Aileron – grew defensive himself, but not to Cliffjumper. Ailerons wings dropped to the lowest point of his back as he made a cry of panic, and spun around in surprise towards the opened ground bridge. He took a few steps back. Cliffjumper had no idea how many 'Cons were going to storm out of that bridge but he wasn't going to take any chances with a direct line to the Nemesis. With his blaster still aimed in front of him he retreated behind the edge of the tree line- aided by the darkness that had befallen them. Shadows were cast around him from the light of the ground bridge.

What seemed like far too long to Cliff, Aileron finally turned around and attempted to transform. His jet engines rumbled deeply in a quick boot up, alt-form barely leaving the ground before another jet materialized out of the green whirlpool, changed back into his root mode in mid air and body slammed Aileron into the ground. The new mech braced himself on Ailerons wings as his form dragged into the ground unforgivingly. As the sound of his engine waned two other aerialcons emerged from the ground bridge and jogged towards their down 'comrade'. Aileron stilled for a moment and Cliffjumper was actually- concerned. For a 'Con. It was always suspected that Decepticons didn't treat each other well but it was odd to see it in person. Perhaps Aileron wasn't lying.

In an attempt to throw the mech off of him, Aileron transformed back into his root mode, throwing his assailant off balance and pushed him away. Scratches marred the whole front of his chassis and the outside of his wings where they were forced to meet the compact dirt. Even though he managed to shake the first assaulter off the two others were quick. One reeled his servo back before dealing a blow to Ailerons helm, knocking him down before he even finished standing up. Both were quick to grab an arm and wing on either side of him and began to drag him back towards the ground bridge. The one who jumped him followed after with his blaster pointed at Aileron, who thrashed in their grip, attempting to dig his pedes into the ground.

Aileron disappeared against his will into the ground bridge, the last remaining one who had downed him stalled before the entrance and scanned the area Cliffjumper was at. Cliff held his internal fans still. He could easily call for backup, but he couldn't hold out for very long with the direct line to the Decepticon mother ship right in front of him.

Then the 'Con turned and left. Just like that. The ground bridge closed and Cliff was alone. It took less than a breem for the whole ordeal to begin and end. Cliffjumper emerged from the blackness behind the tree line and took one last look at the land before him. He moved towards the now discarded energon cube and picked it up, gently analyzing the cube by twisting it one way and back. It was probably tainted.

No, he thought again. It's probably not.

: _Cliffjumper to base, requesting ground bridge. You guys are not going to believe the night I had_ :

* * *

Lord Megatron wore a repulsed expression, as if the aerialcon that had just been hauled back through the ground bridge was pure abomination. The beaten up flyer was unceremoniously tossed onto the ground in front of their lord and Commander Starscream. Third in command Soundwave stood nearby, closing the ground bridge after all four soldiers came back through. He no doubt was recording everything as well- for the historical records. More so that Megatron wanted a record that reminded all that who dared to defy him will not go unpunished. This just happened to be less about Autobot resistance and a little bit closer to home.

Aileron didn't dare try to run away. There wasn't anywhere he could possibly think to run to. Instead, he braced himself on his servos and pushed himself up to stand. He didn't dare look into any of the officers optics, either, that would probably cause Lord Megatron to think he was still rebellious.

Despite how angry he looked, Megatrons booming voice did not spit obscenities or questions, he did not even strike the small soldier before him. Instead he sounded calculated, even as his fists clenched shut. "I've dealt with my fair share of moles¸though they were usually Autobot insurgence. You are certainly the first  _drone_  to pull such an act, and will aid in teaching the newer generations what happens to  _moles_." With that he turned to leave, but not without adding a final note. "Bring him to the command room in an hour, and inform the rest of the troops that there will be an educational demonstration that I insist they all view." It was a command directed to no one in particular, but they were always followed through.

The two aerialcons who took Aileron captive came up behind him and shoved him forward- demanding he move his own pedes towards confinement. At that moment Starscream took steps to leave as well, but not before glancing down in my direction on his way out.

"Good work, soldier."

I was speechless. All I could muster was a simple nod in acknowledgment, raised my right servo across my chassis and lightly bowed.  _Loyalty._  My commander was regarding  _me_. Of course I was just following my duty as a Decepticon soldier, but I couldn't help the feeling of pride swelling within my spark.

As I snapped back from my momentary high, Aileron was walking pass. His visor met with mine and he knew.

Some piece of me hoped that he wouldn't make the connection that I sold him out, but that would have been an insult to his intelligence. Another piece of me wished that I was sorry for what I had done, but I wasn't.

* * *

A/N

It's not Steve!!  But you guys wouldn't like what I would do to Steve, anyways!  And hey, there is a super fancy button that lets me know what you think. I would really appreciate it!


	3. Chapter 2

**Eidolon**

 

Chapter 2

It had been another long, placid day. Working on radar meant long hours of detailed zoning, of which many stations were in use for. Energon deposits are usually under the ground, smothered under different types of minerals that have the ability to jam signals, hindering the scanners ability to easily pinpoint their location. With that being said- detail is what I have always been about, at least that's what's been said about me, the more  _positive_ thing about me. A position in the command room is a promotion that had not previously crossed my processor, but now that I'm here, and the job is mine, I do not intend to frag it up.

.

A soft internal  _ding_  rang as an alert appeared in the upper corner of Cambers heads up display on his visor informing him that his, along with the other eradicons, shift in the command room has come to an end. Lord Megatron had been standing in the center of the room on the raised platform, hands behind his back, simply gazing at large screens in front of him displaying the world outside of the ship. It was nothing spectacular, just the movement of passing clouds that the ship was currently concealed in this night-cycle. Bland, really. Prior to leaving, each eradicon logged their work and shut down their stations, then turned towards our Lord and silently bowed before exiting. Megatron has never acknowledged these movements, and tonight is no different as he kept his attention on the screens before him.

Camber pushed aside the alert and continued on his work. Overtime was something he'd been doing since he'd been given the promotion, hoping it would prove how grateful and dutiful he is. A few short breems had passed in the quiet between him and Megatron, where the only sound was of the small bleeps emanating from the radar. There was a tension in the room, though Camber shrugged it off as it simply being in his masters exaggerate presence.

His attention strayed for a moment at the sound of depressurizing doors and clicking of gallant pedes passed behind him.

"Master, you wished to speak with me?"

"Yes, Starscream," Megatron merely glanced over his shoulder at the jets entrance. "I've been dedicating a lot of thought about the current issue of my troops…  _moral_ ," He turned to fully face his second in command. "And I can only presume that you have had some time to think about the issue as well."

"Of course, my Lord, I have had a few theories about the behavior problem that –"

Megatron raised his servo to stop Starscream in mid sentence. "Soldier,"

Cambers systems hitched a moment, taking in his nerve he smoothly turned to face his two upmost leaders, hand over chassis, and bowed. It wasn't his malicious stare that Megatron greeted him with,  _per se_ , but still not a look one wants to be on the receiving end of. Starscream was on the catwalk, back turned away from Camber with his weight shifted to one side, servo resting on his hip plating. He idly peered over at Camber with a slightly irritated expression, tapping his digits on his side as his wings twitched minutely to match his mood. "Yes, Lord Megatron?"

"Why have you not ended your shift yet?"

"I- I just want to be thorough in my work, my Lord."

"If you are so eager to continue working I could send you down on the surface to personally look for energon yourself," The red glow from Megatrons optics seemed to brighten menacingly as he raised his servo pointedly at the exit. "Though if you are as wise as I expect, you will  _GET – OUT_."

"Right away, sir. My apologies." Camber bowed once more, before retreating to the safety of anywhere but there. Starscream huffed out his annoyance, turning his attention away from the retreating eradicon in favor of examining the tips of his servo.

Starscream spoke up as Camber was on his way out. "Since when do you care if troops are around during one of your musings?"

"I don't want them to be prepared for any sort of… correctional action that may be implemented."

The doors hissed shut behind him.

Well, that last phrase didn't seem inauspicious in the  _least_. Camber stood with his back to the door conflicted on what to do. Stay and listen to what Megatron and Starscream had to say about this "morality" issue, or leave? It's nowhere near his place to overhear an obviously private conversation between his leaders…

"Have you considered the possibility, Lord Megatron, that  _you_ are the problem?"

Dread filled Camber as he glanced back at the doors shut behind him. That sealed the deal. He tentatively leaned close to the smooth metal separating him with his leaders. With such a tactless introduction, he felt… wary for his commander.

* * *

"Care to rephrase that?"

Starscream kept his leisure posture, holding Megatrons gaze. "Your leadership style has left the soldiers with enough fear of you, and as of late, that is all you have done. It appears as though they are losing the drive in their sparks to follow you. What has the Decepticons accomplished as of late? If I didn't know any better I'd say we must be on a hiatus from the war, what with all of the," Starscream waved his servo listlessly to the side before returning it to his hip in a defiant stance. "endless wandering in this putrid planet's sky that we've been doing."

Megatron and Starscream stood in silence for a moment, tension growing between them.

"Are you finished?" Megatron stated under a guile tone.

Starscream gaped at him. Was he finished? Was he FINISHED? He was shocked that that was all Megatron had to say to him, and frankly, it pissed him off.

"You asked for my opinion, so no. I am  _not_ finished." Clicks of metallic heels echoed about the walls as Starscream stepped closer to the tyrant. "Not only are we wasting energon floating about- but wasting the drone resources! The CPU and helm components on an eradicon drone are the hardest parts to fabricate and replace, and you  _crushed_ one! We could have reformatted the CPU, wiped it clean to start it new-  _that_  would have been the simplest method. Instead, you had to make a spectacle out of it. It's no wonder they are losing  _morality_! They probably fear that if they make you angry enough you'll just crush their processors as well."

There was more silence from Megatron. Starscream looked up at him incredulously. "Well?"

Megatron calmly took a step forward has he laid a servo on top of his second in commands upturned wing. Starscream took in a short breath as he looked between the servo upon his wing and the mech it was attached to. He remembers all of the times his leader had taken hold of his prized appendage…

Those wings forsake him as they began to lightly tremble. He hoped Megatron wouldn't notice.

"Yes, Starscream, I suppose I did ask for your opinion." The warlord began, gently brushing his thumb across the top razor sharp top of the wing. "However, I did not ask for another one of your little tirades!" His soft caress turned vicious as his servo clenched down on the thin metal. Starscream yelled out as the material crimpled into the shape of the offending digits. He attempted to push at Megatrons arm in an effort to pull away. "For vorns I have attempted to teach you to not run your mouth, and for vorns it seems as though the lesson has not stuck."

Starscream made a small sound, a beginning effort of protest, when Megatron easily pulled his smaller frame to the edge of the catwalk by the delicate metal of his wing. He teetered on the edge, gripping onto his leaders arm for support. "My liege! Forgive me!" He pleaded. "I overstepped my boundary, I will not cross it again. I know my place-"

"Do you!" Megatron leaned in so close that Starscreams pede met with void air as he tried to step back in instinct. "Because your actions have proven to me otherwise," Starscreams optics searched the ex-gladiators face for any signal of commiseration.

There was none.

"Perhaps I should finally make sure that you will not disrespect my leadership ever again."

Megatron let go of Starscreams wing. He fell off the catwalk onto the lower level below.

* * *

Camber remained on the other side of the door, listening to the confrontation. It was like a ship wreck. It's something that you should stay clear away from and yet you can't help but watch it go down in flames. Commander Starscream… why did he have to spout off like that? He yelled. Why did he yell? Where was he hurt?

A crash was heard on the other side, closely followed by a low boom that tremored the floor.

Slowly, something felt… off, an odd feeling that chilled his backstrut. Cambers shoulders stiffened in his discomfort and peered behind him. He took a startled step back when he found that staring at him was his own reflection looming in a blank black screen. "Officer Soundwave! My apologies," he raised his right servo across his chassis and bowed. "I - I did not realize you were there," They stared at each other in awkward silence. Camber wasn't certain if he expected a response. Which was good, because he didn't get one.

Half a breem passed.

"I'll- just be on my way." Soundwave's faceless mask watched him leave in a flustered mess.

His pedes couldn't carry him away fast enough.

It was like his thoughts were shouting at him as his processor worked overtime mulling over everything. Was it… concern that Starscream had shown for Aileron? No- just that he was a lost resource… But it made sense, his ideas. And Megatron did not want to be told that his way may be wrong. Maybe, his way is wrong.

Then there was Soundwave, how long had been standing there? Was he recording him? Was he able to read the eradicons apart just as they were able too? And if so- was he going to report that he lingered and listen to their fight? Would he care?

All he wanted was to make the thoughts stop until he could properly sit down think about it, and there was only one place that could make any and all thoughts leave your processor; the rec room.

Behind him, his Commander screamed.

 _Screamed_.

* * *

Rec-room?

Wreck-room is more like it.

Aerialcons, Vehicons, Miners; Eradicons of every class came here to collect their rations and mingle, and only Eradicons. So, they made it how they wanted it. The only thing left unchanged was the energon dispenser- and that was because it was built into the wall.

To think this was once a place where  _soldiers_ would sit in an orderly and relaxing manner to refuel is laughable. The tables that once were strewn across the length of the bottom floor were split apart into smaller sections where cliques of mechs would choose to lounge. The room is actually very  _tall_. There are large windows that show the view from the bow of the ship, and they cross from one end to the other. Some Eradicons, mostly the Aerialcons, built a second platform that crossed over half of the rec-room using materials stolen from human construction sites.

A few too many skirmishes have left dents, scratches, and blast marks that are pretty hard to miss.

Screens that used to be placed strategically around the walls were stripped and repositioned. Now they hung placed together to form a larger viewing screen- and used to pirate the human's television programs. The show where large male humans beat each other in the face for sport is the majority's favorite. Watching moving pictures is usually all it is good for- because they also blasted the human'smusic. They used the ships computers to hack the satellites around the planet.

This is one reason why the later series and Camber just don't  _mesh._ They don't know just how much they've allowed themselves to get sucked into this planet. Why this has gone on for so long was beyond him.

Camber entered the rec-room with relative ease- no one paid him much mind, or just didn't notice him come in with the music blasting a repetitive beat. Some were baring their faces, shifting their visors to rest on the top of their helms, others were still masked. He walked along the wall, making a bee line to the energon dispenser and pressed the button to activate the scan of his energy field.

V1-722

RATION NOT YET DISPENSED

RECEIVE?

YES / NO

 **YES** / NO

A panel on the dispenser shifted, revealing his pre-ration sized cube. The panel slid shut after he took his energon towards a small table that was unoccupied. Some turned to look at him, but he ignored it. He was trying to keep from thinking anything, and though he usually had a strong dislike for the sounds that human's thought were entertaining- it allowed the processor to lose track of anything.

"Hey old-timer! How're you holdin' up?"

He abruptly stopped idly turning the cube in his servos the moment the voice hit his audios. Just when the whole zoning-out thing was starting, an Aerialcon slid into the seat next to him, leaning back into the table, resting his arms on the surface in an overly relaxed and nonchalant manner. "Losing your friend n' all, must be  _real_ tough on the spark."

This was the worst case scenario.

Camber didn't bother shifting his visor back into place, but made it a point to keep looking at his cube, and not the 'Con right next to him. "What do you want, Rudder?"

"Ooooh! Shot down! Why the cold shoulder, ol' pal?"

He tried to keep his expression composed- but couldn't help the slight annoyed quirk he let slip. "You made it clear a long time ago that we are not  _friends_. So what is so important that you're taking time away from your gang-bang over there?"

A fake gasp. "I'm hurt, Camber!" Rudder placed his servo on his chassis as if he was actually offended. "I just thought I would come over here an' share in the spark-ache from the loss of a friend with you, so we could really  _come together_ in the  _anger a_ n'  _hatred_ for the mech who caused him to  _scream_ in pain from his very helm slowly being crushed.

"Oh wait… That was  _you_."

Camber tried to ignore him more than he ever tried before. After a few moments of awkward silence Rudder spoke up again.

"Everyone liked Aileron, an' I always wondered why he always stuck around with a hard-coded drone like you. Probably pity," It was becoming increasingly difficult to drown out his voice.

When did the volume go down?

"Asked him once why, an' he just told me not to bad-mouth his friend. Hah, but wouldn't you know it? He's not here anymore."

Finally, he turned his helm to Rudder. He was being baited, of course he knew it, and still he gave in. Optics searing with such indignation stared back at him. His facial plating was the same design as all of the Eradicons, red over black optics housed in an upturned socket. The forhelm curving above the optics and dip into a V shape in the middle. A narrow look made each soldier naturally hold an expression of rancor. But he always had an ability to show emotion more vividly than Camber ever could.

It was annoying.

In the quest for individuality most Eradicons branded their facial plating, actually volunteer to scorch burns into their metal. Rudder included. Intricate designs; composed of straight lines and sharp corners formed small spiral squares in a maze like pattern marred his face, thick and compacted- shapes running over shapes on the top left corner of his face gradually thinning out as it moved down over his optic housing, the last traces stopping short of his chin line.

Camber hated him.

Another tense moment passed.

Rudder gave him a smug expression before turning serious again. "Did you feel good when Starscream praised you? Did it rev your engine?" He'd changed his mind. The atmosphere wasn't worth being in the moment this prick sat next to him. Camber took hold of his cube as he rose to leave. "It was a real good thing you got a place in the command room, because you might have found yourself a  _casualty_ on the next mission."

Chancing a fleeting look of everyone in the room proved that he was once again the center of everyone's attention, waiting for whatever he would say, for whatever Rudder would do. Hydraulics snapped his visor back into place. "You keep pushing me- do you want to fight? Is that it? Because you're prattling is getting  _old_."

Excited murmurs buzzed in around them.

_Smash his face! Melt Him!_

_If Rudder doesn't take care of him – I will!_

_We should scrap him for parts right now!_

Rudder stood as well, standing uncomfortable close. Camber held his ground, but he desperately wanted to lean back, step away, get anywhere away from this mech who seemed bigger- stronger.

"No, I don't want to fight you, Camber," A servo reached up and subtly traced the ornament on the side of his helm, a false caress because the touch turned rough as the servo seized the ornament and jerked him forward. Rudder leaned in close and whispered a promise into Cambers audios. "I want to make your existence miserable. You'll envy those sentenced to the pit"

Shielded by his visor, no one noticed his optics wander the walls. Besides the blast marks, dents, and scratches, there was writing. Designations. He's never been certain who started it, but everyone continues it. Scrawled on the walls are the names of every Eradicon who had fallen, and Ailerons was there now, too. Painted large and crudely above the large bay windows.

 

A1-712

AILERON

"Why not just offline me?" Camber said evenly.

"Because I won't stoop to  _your_ level," Rudder used his free servo to snag Cambers untouched cube from his grip and shoved him away. That damned  _marred_  face directing all of his disgust to him.

"I won't offline a 'brother'."

* * *

To be continued

* * *

A/N

. I think I made Starscream a little bit more G1 than Prime in this one… whoops. (But I like to believe that in TFP cannon he used to be that way)

. Find me on tumblr with the same username and lets chat it up.


	4. Chapter 3

 

A/N:: 

::  /////// is a change in scene (I like to think it’s a soft chhht sound)

:: I realized after Daruvael had commented on this that I had this chapter ready and forgot to upload it to this site.  Despite the super long delay, I haven't forgotten about it!  I think about this story and all the possibilities pretty often but it's so hard to get it typed out.  Anyways, enjoy!  And find me on tumblr with the same username, let's chat~ 

Units of Time

Cycle – Day

Joor – Hour

Klik – minuet

Breem – second 

* * *

 

“I’m afraid, Camber.”

“We all are.”

There aren’t many places on the Nemesis that could be considered secluded, but the ones that are happen to be in the most barren sections of the ship.  It is uncommon that anyone ever has an _official_ reason to be there since it was mostly empty storage that had depleted throughout the vorns.  Camber had met here with Aileron countless of times after realizing that these areas were beginning to lose foot traffic, for a number of reasons.  Mostly it was just to _get away_ from everyone else.  Series Two’s and Three’s, they don’t understand.  They had found it interesting to watch the area change from overstocked rooms to discarded receptacles.  Camber sat across from Aileron on a large, now hollow and skewed container in the enclosed room.  His friend was nervous to say something, restlessly shifting his attention from point to point.  He was never one to hide his emotions- even if he wanted to.

“No,” Aileron looked down with a pause, his voice was deeper than most. 

He made it that way.

“Not… not just of death,” his visor came back up to meet Cambers.  “But of dying for no reason.”

No _reason_?

“Aileron, I don’t really understand what you’re getting at.”

That was a lie, and Aileron knew he was lying.  Camber had always tried to support his friend, though not as well as his friend always supported him.  Still, every soldier was sparked with a _reason_.

Agitation lined the winged mechs voice as he rose to his pedes, taking a step closer.  “Don’t be so daft, Camber!  After all of this _time_ , watching out comrade’s fall and their bodies sent to salvage.”  Their visors locked together in an unwavering stare.  “How many One’s are left?”

He knew the answer.

“How many!” Camber leaned back, surprised by his outburst.  It wasn’t a question.  He didn’t want to respond to him, and he didn’t get the option to answer as Aileron motioned a servo between them.  “The only One’s left are _you_ and _me_!”  Aileron grabbed at the edge of his own visor, “I’m sick of being afraid to die as nothing, a no-face!” A small click from a lock coming undone was heard.  “A majority!”  He spat, before tearing the visor away from his faceplates and throwing it across the room.  Actually break the visor off of his helm.  Only Camber watched it ricochet off the wall, tumbling and skidding haphazardly. 

Aileron had always been dramatic, Camber always wondered if he knew just how much. 

The visor stilled and the tantrum appeared to be over.   “Just like them.” Aileron spoke again in a far-off way.    Camber turned his helm back towards the defeated jet, who faced half-away; servos simply hanging on either side of him and wings slack on his back.

He unconsciously tapped his servos on top of his leg struts, unsure of how to respond, to consolidate, the distraught flier.  How could he feel as though he is nothing?  We are created with purpose, and we die with honor for our purpose.  He knew this, why couldn’t Aileron?  Why has he _never_ accepted this?  Camber stared across the way at the bare faceplates.  It was marred with optics that looked tired and a scar that wasn’t allowed to heal right, trailing from above his right optic down to the left of his chin.

He also made it that way.

From very early on it was apparent that Aileron had issues with identity, more so than others.  Though, he never realized to what extent, or never cared as much. Bare optics lifted up and Camber stilled. They studied Cambers visor, trying to read the masked face and unresponsive body language before turning away again.  The jet dejectedly stepped over to the discarded visor and picked it up, studying it in his servos.  Looking at it but not really looking at anything.  His voice was so quiet, defeated.

“What has it all been for?”  It sounded like Aileron was asking himself that more than to his still sitting comrade.  “We’ve never actually seen Cybertron as anything more than the rubble we left it as-“ He flitted one of his servos in the air, “Except for those _glorified_ images that Megatron has had shoved into our processors again and again.”

_Lord_ Megatron.

“We don’t even join the Well…”

You don’t know that.

Silence.

“I can’t tell you that I still think it’s worth it, after all this time.  Are you honestly going to tell me that you do?”

Yes, he did.

Aileron kept his body facing away as he turned his helm to glance back towards where Camber was sitting.  But he didn’t look at him.  Couldn’t look at him.  Didn’t want to look at him.  He never gave him a response.  Whatever he had to say would have made his winged friend more upset at the lack of acknowledgement towards that idea.  So he kept his vocalizer quiet, taking in the fact that his friend had been tearing himself up inside, and he couldn’t bring himself to empathize.

Still, Aileron continued, trying to bring Camber to understand.  “We’re going to die if we stay, you know.  We’ve stayed alive this long against all the odds- but that luck is running out.  I know it.  You know it.”  Aileron finally turned to fully face Camber, with is marred and _unique_ features.  His optics continued to look tired but now there was a hint of optimism.  There really shouldn’t have been.  He stood straighter, confidently, squaring his shoulders with perked wings.  “I’ve been talking to a few others, and we’re leaving.  I want you to come with us.”

Camber sat there, unconsciously craning his head to the side and staring at the mech across the room incredulously.  Leave?  _Others_?  Meaning, he discussed this with others _first_?  Meaning, he’s filled others processors with his ridiculous notions?  “And go- where, exactly?”  His voice was harsh; biting, unbelieving.  It was the first response to him, and it sounded so callous.  Still, he stood strong.

“To the Autobots.”

It felt as though the energon in his veins stopped and his body ran hot all at the same time.  Camber could only stare at him, grateful that he too did not take his visor off- so Aileron could not see his expression.  Even then he wasn’t sure what it would have shown, all of his emotions churning inside hiding behind a perfectly identical mask.

He felt- betrayed.

///////  
“Ah, there he is,”  
///////

Aileron continues on about how the Autobots were strong despite their low numbers.  Admiring their endurance, sputtering nonsense about how the fight is tied, and someone needs an advantage, and how it could be with his- _our_ help.  They- _we_ , could be the key to the war ending.  Progress could finally start and then we could go home.  Rebuild home.

That slagger spoke of leaving.  _Leaving_!  The organization which created us, the organization which sparked is with a goal bigger than ourselves.  He didn’t care what we were fighting for- or maybe he had forgotten, malfunctioning after crashing cone-first too many times!  Camber wasn’t sure which was worse.  He not only wanted to leave the Decepticons, he wanted to fight us.  He wanted to fight his _brothers_.  Didn’t he realize this?

If that was the case- then he would have to fight Camber as well.

///////  
“Soldier V1-722,” He was walking towards him, servos behind his back, helm held high and wings poised higher.  Starscream stopped just before him, studying his faceless mask a moment…  “He is a prime example that all of you should take note of!  I have always expected that level of loyalty out of all of you,”  
///////

Wings were perked up on Ailerons back as he spoke excitedly about the possibilities.  It made Camber sick.  He didn’t want to hear any of it.  His longest lasting dearest friend; was a traitor, of the Decepticons.

///////  
 “you, a prime example ```` of loyalty”  
///////

To him.

///////  
“you,”  
///////

Eventually Aileron slowed in his tirade of chatter when he realized that Camber wasn’t responding to his excited babbling like the half-wit he expected him to be.  Instead, Camber was hunched over where he sat, arms resting on leg struts, helm in servos.  Aileron said… something.  Probably _still_ trying to explain why his idea was a good one.  _Still_ trying to get him to understand.  The only thing he wanted Aileron to say was that this was one huge joke- perhaps even a hazing?  Soldiers testing soldiers on how dedicated of a soldier they were…

 

Suddenly, a servo rested on Cambers shoulder.  “Camber… I-“ His helm snapped up from his servos as he dodged under Ailerons comforting touch, leaping onto his pedes and slapping the servo away.  Away from _him_.

* * *

 

_Ping._

1 MESSAGE

SOURCE: A1-712

REVIEW / DISCARD

 

It was painfully dim in the room, where illumination was nothing but a dull flicker.  Camber looked up at the ceiling, still lying where he accidentally fell into recharge earlier.  He should fix that… eventually.  Out of all his vorns of existence, these were the memories that were plaguing his processor in recharge? This slag was getting real old.  Camber checked his chronometer; he hadn’t been passed out for long, there were still joors until he had to be on shift again. 

 

Aileron used to be so proud of what he was, who he was.  We all were- are.  But he had always been dramatic.  A while after we Series One had been sparked, we began to become… ‘unique’in the processor.  We were developing _personalities_.  We were created as drone soldiers, identical and mass produced.  Rules, laws, hierarchies, and objectives were programmed into us.  Drone soldiers were not designed to develop personalities or become unique, it simply happened.  To be effective Drones could not just be a machine; which is why we were given sparks, so we could think and learn from experiences in order to be a successful militia.  Soldiers began to react to events in different ways based on their own past experiences, and eventually some began to question a lack of a true designation, a ‘name’.  Originally, and formally, soldiers are addressed by their identification.  Model, series, and number. 

 

Mine is V1-722; Vehicon, Series One, seven hundred twenty second created. 

Aileron was A1-712; Aerialcon, Series One, seven hundred twelfth created.

 

The officers had individual designations, and the naturally-sparked ‘Cons had designations, so soldiers wanted a designation as well.  Some complained that identifications were a pain in the aft to say. A1 this, V1, M1 that.  Aileron was not one of the complainers.  He chose his out of pride of what he was, an Aerialcon.

 

Camber raised his servo above his helm, the red glow of the visor reflecting off of armor.  Back then, it felt as though energon was boiling in his lines, his spark a storm of emotions.  It took everything to not punch Aileron squarely in his ‘uniquely’-scarred face. 

Looking back, he should have done it. 

* * *

 

“Frag frag frag frag frag scrap, slaggin’!  Frag!”

Camber and the other vehicon troopers were behind a makeshift bunker out of the bent scrap that used to be the side paneling of a building.  Lasers fired aimlessly above and there was the small sound of plinking on metal as explosions caused debris to rain down, further dirtying already filthy armor.  The impacts caused ringing in the audios but still that accursed vehicon’s rambling voice kept piercing its way through.

“For the love of Primus… Would you shut-up!”

No matter what anyone said he continued his rambling.  This wasn’t the first battle any of them had been in, how could the mech possibly break now, now!  With the Autobots pushing their way forward!  Camber looked to the side where there was a bulding that was only half a shell of what it once was, literally.  The building had half of it blown apart, its structural supports and material collapsed and created a jungle of debris at its base.  All of the remaining wall covering showed that it was weather and took more than its share of beating.  Everyone needed to get over there and climb its remaining layers for an upper hand of raised shots.  As he glanced down his visors heads up display provided information on the distressed soldier panicking on the ground; cowering against the shelter wall with his digits desperately gripping his helm.

VEHICON DRONE  
IDENTIFICATION V1-493

No one was consoling him, and Camber wasn’t about to either. 

Another explosion, another wave of falling debris, and more ringing.  Everyone flinched, hugging the wall tighter.  Cambers pede met the cowering ‘Cons side with a jarring kick in an attempt to get him to respond.  He didn’t.  “Come on, let’s move!”  Camber started to make his way along the collapsed material in the direction of the higher point, his voice sounded muffled, like his shouts were on the other side of thick glass.

There was an open space between the end of the barricade and where the group of vehicons were at and where they needed to go.  Camber came up to the edge and peered forward, pressing his back against the wayward metal, holding his blaster in the other servo.

They were shaking.

Cambers fans were working overtime, with no hope of cooling down soon.  He leaned his helm against the barricade and shuttered his optics behind his visor, taking in every second before they had to move.  Fired shots still sounded so distant even with them whizzing right overhead and thru the gap that they needed to get through.  He could make it.  They can make it.  They have to make it. 

Lost in his attempt to compose himself Camber didn’t notice the other blaster inching its way around the corner until it was too late.

He froze.

It was an Autobot.  The world seemed to slow down- and he froze.  Merely nanoseconds passed as the ‘Bot raised his own blaster towards Camber’s helm.  His sharp visor met with the assailants’ optics, and their blue gaze burned into him.  There was so much _hatred_ , Camber never realized until that moment how loathsome blue optics could look.  His processor swam and registered everything painfully slow.  He just stared at him.  The blaster was charged and glowing a blinding blue- ready to fire when another laser singed the side of his helm, and suddenly the Autobot jerked back- firing his blast into the sky as his form fell to the ground.  More dull-sounding lasers blew pass him into the downed Autobot.  He glanced back and saw his brothers, shouting at him, and motioning their servos forward.

 

VEHICON DRONE

IDENTIFICATION V1-358

                                                                        VEHICON DRONE

                                                                        IDENTIFICATION V1-1067

                                    VEHICON DRONE

                                    IDENTIFICATION V1-901                                                  VEHICON D

                                                                                                                              IDENTIFICA

Gears shifted and slid together in a panic as Camber transformed into his alt mode and accelerated so quickly that his wheels spun and skidded, wailing into the ground before he actually moved forward.  Just keep going, a little further.  Blue lasers were firing madly all around; shards of metal were flickering at his sides as they impaled the ground. 

 

So close, everything was so close.

 

Then, searing pain.  His alt mode began to shake; he tried to keep himself straight but his left wheel burned so badly!

 

Finally, Camber made it pass an opening between the still standing wall and fallen supports, transforming back before slowing down.  His frame tumbled on the ground, rolling over papers, shards, and rusted plates of metal.  It was the fastest way to get off of his wheel faster.  The world was so chaotic, the mass of high-pitched blasters firing, shouts, low booms, it was all so deafening.  Everything muffled into sounding so far away.  The only thing heard clearly were internal fans choking from the rough treatment.  Achingly Camber pushed himself up from his servos, bringing a pede forward in an attempt to stand.  Raising his adjoining servo Camber touched his shoulder wheel.  Primus, it stung.  Energon had splattered all around the wheel and shoulder, with tread shredded in ribbons on the rim; which was dented, burned, and had a blaster blow a chunk out of the edge.  He hastily looked up at the new shelter, calculating where to go before begging an ascent.  Every movement, every time he had to pull himself up, or move himself around an obstacle, was right- side oriented.  There was no way in pit he was going to his that left shoulder if he could help it.  As he finally reached a sufficient height, Camber peered through gaps in the collapsed material and could see the force of encroaching Autobots below.  That’s when everything dawned on him.  Camber was alone.  None of his brothers followed him.

 

Carefully, so as not to disturb any loose flooring, Camber shuffled to the side where it was possible to see the makeshift bunker where he and his brothers had been.

 

Sound flooded back to his audios.

His brothers- were screaming, pleading.  Through the orchestra of the battle he could hear their cries.  Camber looked out, and immediately regretted it.  Energon was everywhere behind the bunker, pooling underneath the mechs.  They had been shot, but only enough where it disabled their ability to get away.  They were stabbed over and over in the abdomen, kicked and stomped to break their armor.  Blasters were smashed and shattered.  A brother had his helm ornaments torn from his own faceplates and jammed into his neck line.  Limbs were bending in unnatural ways.  The one who cowered just moments before was forcibly pinned to the ground as an Autobot punched his helm until the metal gave way and crushed under the force.  One brother tried to escape in his alt mode- tried.  However, a large and brutish Autobot grabbed his fender and raised his rear wheels off the surface.  With too easy of a force, the brute flipped him over onto his back.  Other Autobots seized the opportunity and jumped him before he even had a chance to transform back.  His cries… were the loudest.

These Autobots did not swiftly end their lives, or take them as war prisoners, they massacred.  They _chose_ to inflict as much pain as they could before allowing his brothers solace.  Camber changed his right digits into his blaster and rested it on a support aimed at the bunker where his brothers laid dying.  He tried to calm the shaking and ragged fans to concentrate in on an orange ‘Bot that just stood there watching the others attack the brother on his back.  The orange one was covered in energon- his _brothers’_ energon.  Camber let his fans breath a large rush of air, and calm his engine for one moment, and fired.  Energon exploded from the back of his helm as the orange Autobot stumbled one step forward before falling to his knees and collapsing face first to the metal ground.  The other ‘Bots immediately took notice to the attack and began looking around them for the offending blast.

One more intake.  
Calm.  
Fire.

This blast hit another, bur not fatally.  Just enough to piss him off, evidently.  The Autobots began to fix their stares in Cambers direction and in a panic he fired a barrage of blasts and yelled; in frustration, in fear, in anguish, in mourning, he yelled for everything.  They fled after firing a few shots of their own, leaving behind two fallen comrades and the bloodied, ravaged husks of his brothers.  After they left, it didn’t take long for the next wave of Autobots to appear, obviously not encountering any other enemies because they simply ran forward, helms on a swivel to eye their surroundings, hardly sparing a glance at his brothers on the ground- except for one ‘Bot whom stopped and shot each one in the helm before moving on with the rest.

Camber moved away from the gap and sat down, sagging against a support- mindful of the shredded wheel.  Fans inside his chassis were still attempting to calm a overheated and ragged engine as what he witnessed replayed over and over in his processor.  Their screams were so loud.

Or maybe that was his.

The lock unhitched for his visor as Camber lurched forward, and purged his tank.

.

Time passed for who knows how long.  The whine of lasers had since faded away, and the booms from explosions became muffled from being at a distance.  No more Autobots- or Decepticons- had passed this way.  There were a few scouts, but Camber never attempted to shoot at them for fear of blowing his cover.  He knew that he couldn’t stay in the same spot forever, as much as he thought he should just go ahead and do that anyways.  The wheel on his left shoulder still burned, though this wasn’t his first battle, it was the first time being _shot_.  The right side of his helm also had a mild sting from the laser his other wheeled brother fired.  That mech had saved his life, and Camber left him behind.

He had left all of them behind.

Eventually Camber mustered enough nerve to push forward and climbed down from the hidden perch, thru the layers of fallen supports of the structure.  Once on the ground he ran in the opposite direction from the massacre, refusing to look back.  Blast holes and scorch marks tarnished every place you could possibly look.  After a short time of steady jogging, corpses started to appear.  Some were Autobots, some were Decepticons, but most were Vehicons.  Each body was lying in a sloppy pool of their own energon.  Maybe some died from a well placed shot, while others bled out, but none of them were as mangled as his brothers at the bunker.

 

Explosions started to become louder, and Camber could hear the whine of lasers again as he neared the shifted battleground.  Then there was a familiar shriek blaring in the sky above.  Jets, set in a V formation, grew closer.  The leader was silver, and the rest were a deep color- Aerialcons.  As if on cue, they split apart, diving down closer to the shattered landscape, weaving past collapsed spires as they fired a steady stream of blasts at the offenders below them and receiving blasts in return.  Their shrieking turned into a thunderous boom before they lifted back into the sky and tapered away.  Camber had seen Aerialcons in battle before, but there was something to this troop.  They were more precise, graceful, and _beautiful_ than the rest.  It wasn’t until the thunder left from their wake paled away that Camber realized he had stopped moving in order to watch them.

 

Stupid!  Idiot!

 

After nervously scanning the area again his pedes picked up the pace again.  Except for the terminated ‘Bots frozen face staring right at him- he had gone relatively unnoticed.  Then the shrieking returned, drawing closer from the direction that had left in.  This time Camber ran over to a large panel of skew metal to cover behind.  Of course he knew he should kept moving, still, he couldn’t bring himself to not take in the sight.  The leader was flanked by two Aerialcons onf either side of him; all raining down what looked like a curtain of blast fire.  They all came in fast when the leader abruptly pulled up and bank away without the others.  A heat-seeking rocket shot up from the ground, and the troop was heading right into it.

 

 

Shoot it down!  Move!  Mov-!

His own thoughts were cut short as the missile collided with one of the Aerialcons.  The area became disgustingly bright as he exploded in a fiery rage, engulfed in a blaze from his own fuels igniting.  Creating a boom that was deep and guttural.  Shrapnel from the explosion was falling in a torrent of flame and metal.  His frame never emerged from the blaze; he was completely obliterated… Two on his opposite side banked away while another who was close to him was caught in the wake of the blast.  The winged mech couldn’t fight the force and was pushed wing over cabin.  The Aerialcon was barreling down; a small trail of energon was draining behind him as he was drawing nearer.  He transformed out of his alt mode as he plummeted towards the ground, getting pretty close to Camber...  Scrap!  He was falling _towards_ Camber!

His pedes seemed to have jolted on their own accord, springing closer to the descending mech.  He was not about to let one more brother die!  Camber scrambled on top of a crumbled piece of metal paneling, crouched down- and prepared.  The world seemed to slow down again as his optics followed the falling flier.  Closer, just a nanosecond more, one more…

Camber leaped forward, catching the Aerialcons frame from the side- gripping one servo around his torso and another on his wing, holding their fronts closer together- and the world sped up again.  Primus!  Everything _hurt_.  His back smashed into the unforgiving landscape, bouncing like a discarded toy before digging the heels of his pedes against the terrain in an attempt to slow down.  Sparks licked at his armor from the force of screeching across the metal.  Then… he let go.  _Let go_!  It’s just that his shoulder hurt so badly…  The Aerialcons frame violently tumbled away from his as they both came to a stop as heaps on the ground.  As Camber laid there he could hear the faint cheers of triumph from the Autobots on the level up ahead.  All of his joints were sore as he rolled over to face the Aerialcon; his helm was face down as energon dripped from the crevices of his mask- laying half to the side with most of the weight leaning on his front.  The larger of his wings were warped at the end from the heat and impact.

And… he wasn’t moving.

For the second time that day Camber raggedly pushed himself back up, and with pede steps that felt far too heave, treaded over to his brother.  He lifted up the slumped frame in a graceless manner, wrapping his servos under shoulder struts.  The sharp edge of wings pressed uncomfortably against him as he hurriedly dragged the body under cover of the nearest sad excuse for shelter.  The last thing they needed were Autobots that were too good at their job spotting his crappy rescue attempt.

Camber laid the hurt mech down in the shadows and kneeled beside him, surveying the damage.  Energon bled from shrapnel wounds splintering his entire front from the explosion.  Some still had pieces lodged within his armor, and that grand catch in the sky probably didn’t help it any… Warily Camber placed a servo on a weeping hole in the tattered abdomen in a shoddy attempt to keep the energon from leaking.  Frag it all!  His programming was nothing _close_ to a medic!  How was he supposed to help this mech- if he was even still functioning?  Reluctantly, he shifted his attention to the visor.

AERIALCON  
A1-712

He knew it was damaged, but he didn’t want to see just how badly.  Curiously, it was _bent_.  Right across the middle; where a piece of armor must have struck him, which was much better than the worst case scenario of a piece of metal lodged _in_ his faceplates.  Energon trickles from below the seams of the visor.  Camber reached forward and curled his digits beneath where the mask used to connect seamlessly with his helm.  Without much effort the lock disengaged and he slowly peeled it up from his faceplates where it slid up to rest above the fliers helm.  His features were slack; optics shut and mouth slightly open.  The bend in the visor had mirrored onto his face, trailing a bleeding gash that spread from above his right optic, across his olfactory ridge, and down the left of his chin.

A quaking boom from an explosion that sounded- and felt- way too close shook the shelter they were under.  Without thinking Camber quickly moved his frame protectively over A1-712 as debris fell from the ceiling, pelting his back and damaged wheel.  It was then that he studied 712’s features during the shaking and there was no response.  His face didn’t even twitch.  So here he was, risking even more injury for this mech and he wasn’t even sure if he was alive!

Communication with the Vehicon squadron leader had cut out cycles ago, and there is no way a Vehicon drone would have the Aerialcon leaders’ comm. line.  Drones are not supposed to send a distress beacon, but A1-712 was really damaged, and they were stranded.  The Decepticons needed to know that soldiers were out here.

.

“What’s your designation?”

It had been a little over a joor, Camber was surprised to hear the choked static behind him.  He turned to see A1-712 gripping his abdomen and looking at him, or rather, watching him. 

How long had he been doing that?

“Don’t waste your energy talking.  I called for help,” Camber moved closer to the jet, taking in his sorry shape.  Weeping wounds, a gash in the faceplate, dented and torn armor, wings that warped and lost their beautiful sharpness… “I’m not sure how much longer we’ll be waiting, so, if you could just-”

“Hey, hey, hey!”  Battered vents attempted to filter cooling air.  “I just askchhed for the designation of the mech that saved my sorry afhht.”  This mech actually tried to make light of this whole situation, like it could.  There was a cocky smile on his faceplates that was a cover for how much pain he was trying to hide.  Perhaps he should just ignore the mech.  Maybe if Camber didn’t talk back then neither would 712?  But that was scrapped- ignoring him wouldn’t do wonders for his moral, per se.

_Sigh._

“V1-722.”

///////  
There were no other soldiers in the room as he paused his task to turn and face his commander.  “Soldier V1-722,”  
He was walking toward him, servos behind his back, helm held high and wings poised higher.  Starscream stopped just before him, studying his faceless mask a moment before bringing a digit up under Cambers chin, leaning closer.  
///////

712 made a face.  “Thahht’s not what I asked, what is your _name_?”

Camber was about to retaliate about his argument when a small troop of pede steps was heard just beyond the entrance of their shelter.  He transformed his servo into a blaster and prepared to defend when a gruff voice spoke up.

“We got a distress call!  Medical rescue-“ Three Decepticons came into the opening, one was carrying a pack of medical supplies travelling between two much larger soldiers.

“Awwh slaggit!  It’s just a couple of drones!”  The larger of the soldiers whined.  “How did you get a hold of the distress channel?”

_What?_   “Sir, listen, I can’t use my vehicle mode and A1-712 is horribly damaged; he needs medical aid right now!  That’s what you’re for, right?”

The soldier sighed with agitation.  “Yeah, we’re for _Decepticons_ , _not_ wasting resources on Eradicons.” 

There was a tense moment of silence as what was just said went thru Cambers processor.  “What are you talking about!  We ARE Decepticons!”

“No-" The soldier cut in, "you’re drones.” He curtly pointed in the direction they had just come from.  “If you need to be repaired there are is a station for you at the outpost.  I’m not even sure why this is an argument.”  He turned to leave.  “Come on, Backtrack, Rotorbelt, there are other calls.”

The medic, who was the smallest out of the trio, looked between his guardians and the two Eradicons. 

“Don’t you think that if I could get him there I would?”

There was a light touch of digits on the back of Cambers pede.  “Hey, stop… it’s alright,”

The largest soldier began to walk away, not bothering to look back.  “Whether or not you can is not our problem.”

The smaller soldier nudged the medic and motioned his head to leave before turning away himself.

“Hold on, slaggit!  You can’t just leave a mech dying!”

 Another ragged intake and a pathetic tugging grip at Cambers pede again.  “I don’t neehhd help from fraggers like thhhat,”

The medic watched the second soldier leave and tightened his grip on his medical pack.  He turned his helm back to Cambers shoulder and 712 on the ground, torn and unsure.  His optics weren’t like most others, they were a vibrant yellow and didn't hold the same harshness Decepticons and Eradicons shared.  Finally, for the first time since he showed up those optics held resolve.  He quick-stepped to the other side of 712 and set his pack down, digging through it hastily, all the while glancing back at where the soldiers left.  Numerous items were pulled out; a portable welder, proto-mesh, and an extraction tool were the main ones Camber was interested in.  Lastly the medic extracted a small condensed energon cube that glowed brighter than usual and closed his pack, slinging it over his back as he stood.  “You will need a new wheel,” he set the cube on the ground next to the damaged fliers’ helm.  “and be the one to remove the imbedded shrapnel.”

“B-but… I don’t have medical programming, sir,”

“This is all I can do,” He jumped slightly as his name was shouted with a cross tone.  Those yellow optics swept over A1-712s frame and locked with his bare red optics.  Suddenly he broke that contact and hastily headed out.  “Consider it field training.” 

.

It was crude, and shoddy, and A1-712 kept making pained faces but tried not to verbalize any discomfort.  Pretty much trying to keep Camber from feeling any worse about how bad of a job he was doing at removing the metal from his torso.

“Camber…” 712’s voice fizzed.

“What?”

“That’s your disgnathhhion.  I know, it’s pretty great.  I think of the best ones.”  Camber looked at his faceplates.  He wore a cocky smile.  Obviously this mech was only a _little_ arrogant.  “Mine is Aileron.”

Both of them were close in number, meaning that they were produced at relatively the same time.  However, Camber had not gotten close enough to any Eradicons before.  Socializing wasn’t a part of the programming.  He’d do the drills he was told to do, be a part of the squad he was told to be a part of, refuel when told to refuel and recharge when the alert says it’s time too.  No one has thought to give him a name, and he would never choose one himself, identification was efficient enough.  Still, he couldn’t help but feel a tug at the corner of his mouth.  He let it sink in.  Camber…

Yes, it was a good name.

///////  
“Good work, soldier.”  
///////

“Thank you, Aileron.”

 

“No, Camber, thank you.”

 

* * *

 

_Ping._

1 MESSAGE

SOURCE: A1-712

REVIEW / DISCARD

What did a mech have to do to get a decent recharge?  The chronometer said that it was only half a joor until my next shift began.  I sat up, my systems groggy from the memories and lack of a full tank before passing out.

My processor mulled over everything, and through the silence I realized that I didn’t care.

 

I didn’t care about the past.  I didn’t care about what would happen without him here anymore, I can deal with anything on my own.  And I didn’t care that I was the reason he’s found out whether we join the well or not.

Aileron was selfish, only thinking of himself and not of the very cause he was sparked to become a part of.  He had forgotten why the war began in the first place.  What all of _our_ comrades have fallen for.

 

1 MESSAGE

SOURCE: A1-712

REVIEW / **DISCARD**


End file.
